


War and Chaos

by DevinePhoenix



Category: Bleach, Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: Alternate Universe - Norse Religion & Lore, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Gen, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 04:59:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18931741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevinePhoenix/pseuds/DevinePhoenix
Summary: Uraichi week 2019: Day 4 - Reincarnation AUAll his life, there has been a familiar presence just out of reach.All his life, there's been a fire in his veins.And then the two meet





	War and Chaos

**Author's Note:**

> Haha I wrote this a while ago after I watched a full playthrough of God of War 4 and caught a norse mythology bug. I also discovered that there are not many fics with Norse mythology. 
> 
> If you see any inaccuracies in lore, feel free to point them out.

Ichigo’s first memory was of a pale, blond man cradling him in trembling arms as he whispered a lullaby into his ears. The song was in a different language, he knew this even as a babe, it did not sound like his mother or his father or anyone else he had heard in his short life.

 

It was something else, a language born half a world away and half an age ago. It lingered in his memories, even as he grew, making him yearn for something he cannot quite name. A hum on the wind, a chill in the air, a companion he cannot name or put a face to.

 

It is years before he sees that man again, though he can always feel him nearby. He doesn’t know how he knows the man or how he knows that he is there. But there is always – at the edges of his senses – a faint feeling, warm and full of comfort. The face of that man was long lost to memory. All that remained was an impression of gold hair, scarlet warmth, the hum of that song and a rustle of feathers.

 

On quiet nights, when he can feel the ache of his mother’s loss throb deep in his soul, a bird with the same touch of warmth visits him.

 

It was a quiet and well-mannered bird, dark as shadows and larger than any of the other wild crows he had seen. It would sit by the window, trying to croon and offer what comfort it could, carrying that familiar warmth and soothing his tears. When they days were bad, he would open the window and the bird would regally allow him to stroke it as he unloaded his mind.

 

It wasn’t just that one bird either.

 

The local crows followed him with dogged loyalty, hopping along or following in curious groups of three and four. He learnt to ignore the behaviour after a while. They weren’t bothering anybody, so he saw no need to chase them off.

 

The extent of chaos they caused was their persistent mobbing of any dog that approached him. Though to be fair, he had never met a dog that liked him, they all hated him at first glance. The neighbourhood dogs had all tried to take a chunk out of him at least once, no matter their size.

 

The persistent flock of omen birds had given him an even worse reputation to go with his odd hair colour. By the time he was ten, most of the town thought that he was some sort of witch.

 

The first time Ichigo socked a middle-schooler for trying to pick on him, a little thrill raced along his bones. He felt a little guilty about it. How could he enjoy it? What did it say about him that he enjoyed violence?

 

He had tried to deny that thrill, to avoid fights and stay away from trouble. But the fights came to him regardless and he guiltily had to defend himself. As the years passed he buried down that joy with a solid need to protect. He enjoyed fighting because he could protect his precious people, that’s all it was. That’s all, he told himself.

 

When he first drew Zangetsu, though this is long before he earned the right to know his sword’s name, the thrill crackles like full formed lightning in his veins. It was much stronger than the brief sparks of fist fighting and much harder to control. Despite his best efforts, the grin doesn’t leave his face until the sword is sheathed once more.

 

Hollows are just the outlet he needs for his battle-thirst. Smart enough for an interesting fight, but not human enough to cause guilt when he kills them (after the first few times at least).

 

He faces hollow after hollow, swordsmanship and combat improving at a rapid pace. It scares Rukia just a little, he can tell from her startled glances sometimes. But he feels like this was what he was made to do. Fight and keep on fighting. Getting up over and over again and becoming better every time. _Learning_. Something is burning in his veins now that refuses to be quieted anymore.

 

When Rukia finally introduces him to Urahara Kisuke, something deep in his soul whispers _ah there you are_.

 

The scruffy shopkeeper has silver eyes, the same eyes he had always thought looked ridiculous in the head of a raven. There are little tells too, a particular motion of the head that the raven had always done when curious, a tilt of the body when listening intently. It was a little strange to see those familiar motions by an actual human. Most of all, he was warm. Not in personality or manner, he was a little too eccentric and maniacal for that, but warm in a way that was soul deep.

 

Later, after Rukia has gone to bed nestled up in his cupboard, he slipped away from the house alone. His journey through the quiet residential streets was uninterrupted. The streets were peaceful aside from some cats and no one sees him come or go.

 

Under the silver moonlight, he meets the shopkeeper. The light gilds the pale blond hair silver, and he can feel a lump in his throat.

 

He hadn’t realized that all along, he knew his name. The name of that familiar warmth that had followed him and protected him over the years.

 

And he knew his own name.

 

“Tyr.” Urahara says, gentle and careful.

 

“Loki.” He replies, the words catching in his throat.

 

The world ended before. In cold and fire and blood and many, many wolves. It was a good and proper Ragnarok. Everything passed as foretold without a single variation. Loki lost child after child before finally mutually killing Hemidall. His own duel with the great evil wolf Garm tearing up the landscape. In the end, he had pierced it through its heart as its fangs closed around his neck.

 

And when it was all over, the remaining humans emerged from hiding to rebuild and populate the world once more. It was the new age of humans, what few gods survived soon realized that they were unneeded. Their tales faded into myth and legend as the world moved forward into the age of humanity and science. All the gods that had once been so powerful, fell into the human reincarnation cycle, rarely remembering they had been gods at all.

 

He hadn’t remembered either, but the thrill of battle could not leave his bones, even when he could not remember his true name. As the god of War and Battle and Strife, conflict was drawn to him whether he remembered or not.

 

That also did not explain why Loki stood before him strong as ever, with the full weight of his chaotic Seidr behind him. Loki even looked exactly the same as when he was a god. Wiry and thin with haphazard blond hair and a cunning silver gaze that looked as though he could see straight through to your soul. He could almost believe that they were back on that Ragnarok battlefield ready to fight and die.

 

Tyr had never hated Loki, unlike many of his fellow Aesir. How could he when trickery and chaos was such a large part of War? They had spent some fun times, on battlefields big and small trying to outwit enemies and each other. It was a game of cunning and strategy and clever tactics. They couldn’t help but grow close.

 

Even so, they had their fair share of quarrels, Tyr’s role in the imprisonment of Fenrir being the biggest one. Loki had few attachments to the people he slept with, but he adored his children. He loved them more than any living thing in the world, even though everyone else called them monsters.

 

Tyr hadn’t wanted to, but Odin had commanded so he had to obey his king. In his heart he knew it was a betrayal, but he did it anyway, and he would have to live with that sin.  Loki had tried to murder him for a while, even while he was adjusting to losing a hand to Fenrir.

 

It was a rough and difficult time in their relationship, but in the end, after much yelling and near-death experiences, Loki had deemed that the loss of his hand was punishment enough for now. His son would be freed someday after all, but that hand would never grow back. The loss of the God of War’s sword hand, thereby reducing his power forever. Their relationship had never been as easy after that, a thread of tension that had persisted until Loki had been imprisoned for the murder of Baldur.

 

It would be a lie if he said he hadn’t seen it coming.

 

Loki had laughed and tricked as usual but after his children were imprisoned, there was something very bitter and hateful in his eyes.

 

They had never allowed themselves to become _too_ friendly despite their close comradery, they knew well that they would meet on opposing fields come Ragnarok. There was no need to compound the end of the world with heartbreak.

 

(they betrayed each other, as it was writ)

 

(their hearts still broke)

 

Ragnarok had passed however.

 

This was a brand-new world.

 

Together, they had agreed to leave the past behind, the heavy sins that they had committed against each other forgotten for this new beginning.

 

Baldur was alive. Fenrir roamed free and delighted.

 

Loki’s children were free, and he could finally let himself accept the sincere apology that Tyr offered.

 

They couldn’t stop themselves melting in the peace, enjoying each other’s company in new ways. Some lives they only had each other for company. Loki’s children stayed nearby for the first few centuries but in time they also went out on their own. The other gods rarely woke up, but Tyr and Loki always did.

 

Tyr would inevitable fight so much he woke himself up. The war drum in his veins would not be denied.

 

Loki could feel the burn of fire and chaos in his blood. It drove him so mad he went right around the bend to being sane. Fire would know who he was, even before he knew himself.

 

Since they knew how to trigger each other, it was child’s play for whoever woke up first to wake the other.

 

“You’re blond again.” He said, before he could stop himself.

 

“And you’re ginger again.” Loki said.

 

It had been a _while_. He didn’t know what had happened, but their luck had been terrible for the past two hundred years. They must’ve been born in separate countries or died young or just never got the chance to look for each other _(He couldn’t bare it if he had been avoiding him_ ). He hadn’t seen another god in all that time either.

 

“Where,” he swallowed harshly. “Where have you _been_?”

 

“Oh, my dear.” Loki said, reaching out to touch the side of his face. His eyes were soft and kinder than usual. “I’ve been looking for you for _so_ long.”

 

Ichigo tugged him close and hugged him with all his strength. Loki was alive and warm with the nova of his Seidr under his skin. It was like basking in sunlight after so long in the cold.

 

“Seriously though,” He mumbled into Loki’s shoulder. “ _where have you been_? I haven’t seen anybody in _ages!_ ”

 

Loki gripped him tighter, equally as desperate. “You are the last god to walk the earth.”

 

He drew back a little, only enough to stare at Loki’s pale and serious face. “…What…? How…?”

 

“Human souls found a way to slow down the cycle of reincarnation.” He shook his head, his tone a little incredulous. “They made a fascinating system using a soul as a focal point….”

 

He stopped himself before he could elaborate. “Never mind that, the point is that there’s now a resting place on the other side. Most of the old gods can _chose_ not to reincarnate anymore so they don’t. We live among the human souls now and help them shepherd their dead.”

 

Ichigo frowned thoughtfully. “Wasn’t the whole point of the reincarnation to not remember and meddle in things?”

 

There was a shadow of sadness in Loki’s eyes he realized, and sharp lines of stress and guilt in his face. The gods gathering back together must have been harsh on him. Very few of the old Aesir had liked Loki. Feared and respected him, yes, but they hadn’t liked him. And after Ragnarok, where Loki was responsible for at least three of the world-ending problems, they would like him even less.

 

In the middle of the street, in the middle of the night, Urahara Kisuke who was once Loki Silvertongue knelt in full seiza in the dust.

 

“Please.”

 

“Loki!” Ichigo sprang forward and hauled him up, stomach sick. Loki did not kneel. He was proud and fierce and wily like a bag of cats, and he _did not kneel_.

 

Fingers clamped around his sleeve and silver eyes were desperate. “Odin has Fenrir, Jourmungandr and Sleipnir at his whims again. They do not remember or recognize me but…I can’t. I can’t fight them or him. I need your help.”

 

What else could he do but agree?

 

“Of course I will.”

 

Then he tells him the tale.

 

Of a cold and lonely Shinigami always thirsting for knowledge, to be better, to be greater, to become something close to a god once more. Of Odin, gathering chess pieces under the noses of the human authority as he prepared to wrest the throne from an uncaring Soul King.

 

Of a starving and loyal waif who followed along behind the Shinigami who sponsored him with the face and manners of a kitsune but the sword-soul of a snake.

 

Of a wolf so powerful that none could stand his presence and he tore apart his own soul for company. Who followed along behind that Shinigami for a promise of comrades and equals.

 

Of a bright laughing girl with long green hair amidst the hellish sands. Of the hoof marks she would leave in the sand when she frolicked. Lost track of and assumed dead in an infighting dispute.

 

Of the only child that Odin did not and could not take. A wild child of death and loyalty who had stayed by his side since this body was a child as an older sister. Of long purple hair and a shapeshifting skill as strong as his own.

 

He listened.

**Author's Note:**

> Tyr – Ichigo  
> Loki – Kisuke  
> Odin – Aizen   
> Jourmungandr – Gin Ichimaru  
> Fenrir – Stark Coyote   
> Sleipnir – Neleil  
> Hel/Hela – Yoruichi Shihoin  
> Munnin – Ulquiorra - 'Memory' because of the eye-crushing memory sharing thing  
> Huginn – Sayzel - 'Thought' because he’s the scientist
> 
> Unohana as Hel/Hela would’ve been funny as all hell though


End file.
